Living Dead Girl
by Lizzielollipop186
Summary: I'm just adding to the many "after it happened" stories. Mari and how she is coping a month later. I own nothing.
1. Call Me

Mari walked into Dr. Autumn's office exactly a month after what happened to her. The young woman smiled up at her, already seated as Mari came in. She told her to just shut the door behind her, never allowing the smile to fade. Mari, awkwardly obliged.

"Take a seat, dear." Again, awkwardly.

"So, hello." The woman held out her hand to Mari. Mari studied it for a moment before taking it with hers. "My name is Rachel Autumn. Doctor, technically, but please feel free to call me by my first name." When her sentence was finished, she dropped her hand and took into it a pen.

"Can you tell me your name, love?" Rachel Autumn smiled. Mari noted her smile was almost _too_ white. She looked like she was fresh out of college and nervous, as if Mari were her very first patient. A trauma one, nonetheless. _And_, a child, to add to it all! How lucky was she? Still, she seemed friendly enough. She was being paid to help her, too. Any doubts that Mari had in the young blonde were pushed away.

"Yeah, uhm, I'm Mari Collingwood." Mari mumbled cooperatively. At first, Rachel seemed surprised to actually hear Mari, the rape victim, speak. But as quickly as it appeared, her appalled face vanished.

"Alright, Mari, now on a scale from one to ten, how willing do you think you feel to share with me what you're in here for?" Rachel was already scratching away at her notepad. The sound set Mari's teeth on edge. She didn't know what bothered her more: the fact that she didn't know what was being written or that she did know what was being written.

Mari cleared her throat. "Uhm, well, I guess I'd say about a four." Rachel Autumn scribbled faster so she could speak without much silence in between responses. It made no difference to Mari. Either way, she felt more uncomfortable than she could even express. She popped her knuckles.

"Well, that's a pretty low number. But, I totally understand." Mari jerked unintentionally. Throughout her whole ordeal of doctors, psychiatrists, family, and everything, the words "I understand" kept coming up. _Bullshit_. They didn't understand anything. They didn't understand what it was to see your friend dying, murdered. They didn't understand what it was to have your body totally invaded. And they _definitely_ didn't understand what it was to be mocked by those words meant to add a sense of comfort.

"So," Rachel began again once she was done writing, "I just need to ask a few questions. They're just yes or no." She cleared her throat. "So, are you on any medication right now?"

"Yes."

Scribble. "Are you willing to cooperate during sessions such as these?"

"Yes."

Scribble. "Alright, and are you here because a doctor recommended a psychiatric treatment?"

"Yes."

Scribble. Rachel then sighed. "Okay, Mari, let's talk about you." Rachel Autumn flashed that blinding smile.

There wasn't much to discuss. Mari knew who she was, but she wasn't that Mari anymore. She was too confused right now. Too haunted by everything to figure anything out. She used to be sporty, quietly popular Mari, who had just graduated and was ready to take on the world. She used to be a swimmer. She used to have plans for the future. But now, all she knew was that she was wearing gray tennis shoes today. She knew her mind had taken a break from nightmares at night, and now she was having sickly-sweet dreams about what happened.

Rachel broke through her thoughts. "So, how old are you, dear?" Mari looked at the floor.

"Seventeen."

"Any college plans?" Rachel continued to smile that encouraging grin of hers. Mari almost felt guilty for being angry at Dr. Autumn for doing her job and trying to be gentle about it. It couldn't have been easy. Mari tried not to sound too heart-broken as she replied to the tough question.

"Uh, well," she swallowed dryly, "I'm kind of, taking a year off..." She felt almost ashamed to say it. To Mari, it actually sounded cowardly. After everything she'd survived, shouldn't she be able to go to a big scary college? But the thought of being gone from home for nine months, living with a stranger... Mari inwardly cringed. When she told her parents that, they were more than on board with that idea. But then, they had been with a lot. Mari could have told them that she wanted to keep forty-two cats in her room and paint the floor with chocolate, and they would have ecstatically agreed to it.

More scribbling. Then, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Asked the Doctor with near-invisible teeth. Actually, as of yesterday, Mari did technically have a brother. Justin turned eighteen in three days, meaning Mari's parents legally adopted him just in time. Mari didn't think that she'd tell Rachel that, though. That'd be going a little farther past 4 on the "information I'm willing to give about that day" scale. It'd be hard to explain without going into full detail about what happened June 22nd.

"No." Mari settled for a little white lie. Oh, eventually, when she was at number 10, she'd tell Dr. Autumn. Besides, maybe if Mari seemed exponentially boring, Rachel would have less interest in seeing her. It was a long shot, seeing as her story would make front page news.

Rachel sighed. "Activities you enjoy?" Immediately, Mari thought of what she would have said June 21st and before that. Swimming. But now, the thought of swimming made her want to vomit more than conjuring up the memory of a disgusting grown man moving insider of her.

More recently, though, Mari had fallen in love with walking. At night, later at night, Mari would just walk around for about an hour. She normally left at ten. Walking alone at night didn't frighten her. After all, she'd been abducted in broad daylight. At least she could hide in the dark.

"I walk a lot." She told Rachel, a little more sincerely than she had for the past few questions. As if feeling a new kindling in her work, Rachel wrote more fiercely. Mari almost felt accomplishment in seeing her do this. Not everything had to be about that one damn day, right?

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Why walking?" Rachel looked at Mari curiously. Suddenly, Mari felt scrutinized by her eyes. She stared down at her shoes as she replied.

"Oh, well, I just like to think." Her cheeks reddened.

"You do?" Dr. Autumn sounded nearly shocked.

"Well, yeah."

"What do you tend to think about on these walks?" She got herself into a position ready for writing whatever Mari said.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think about dreams I had or will have." As it came out of her mouth, Mari regretted it immensely.

"Dreams? What dreams?" Rachel Autumn sounded too eager for Mari to deal with.

As if it was meant to save her, Mari heard a small beeping timer go off on Dr. Autumn's watch.

Rachel stood up. Mari followed. Rachel held her hand out again. Mari took it again. "Now, Mari, I'll see you next week, same time, okay? Oh, and if you have an emergency worth discussing," Rachel released Mari's hand, fumbled around her desk for two seconds, and then handed Mari a card, "call me."


	2. Pens and Pencils

Mari never went anywhere alone.

She crossed the threshold of the psychiatric clinic out into the humid summer air. It only took her six seconds to register that her mother was already waiting for her, stopped in the middle of the parking lot, their new car stalling. Mari loved and respected her mother, but she found herself to be rather sick of her near-constant presence.

Mari walked to the car, opened the door, and slid into the safety. Before she knew her mother would drive, she would have to apply her seat belt. With the satisfying sound of a click, Emma smiled, and away they went. Silence grew to be key in the Collingwood family. What was there to be said? But after two stoplights, Mari's mother grew uncomfortable in the still air and spoke.

"So how was it?" Vague, easy. A good, unoffensive question a mother could ask their rape victim child. Mari's relationship strains were, of course, obvious, and they branched out everywhere. She felt the most distance with her mother. Emma felt it too, and constantly rehearsed what she could say to her emotionally-vulnerable daughter. _Make sure your voice is steady._

Mari considered a moment. Emma wasn't the only one who had come up with careful words. "It was..." _something you forced me to go to, which is never appealing, mother, _"what I needed." Her words came out glumly, but Emma was pleased. Should this be a conversation? She decided to try.

"Yeah?" Emma looked unnecessarily at her rearview mirror, thinking of her words. "You think it helped?" She held her breath. When it came to the word "help", Mari was never very appreciative. When Mari didn't answer right away, Emma instantly regretted using that awful word.

Mari looked at the passing trees. _Help_. That was almost as bad as "I understand". Everyone always pretended like they knew what they were talking about when it came to these situations. Mari would have bet her soul that Rachel Autumn had never been raped. She wasn't in the right line of work.

Mari also knew that it wasn't her mother's fault. She always took into account that her mother was trying, and that it couldn't have been easy on her either. But she didn't feel as though she should offer any sympathy out. Was she in as bad of a mental state as her mother, father, and everyone had made her out to be? She didn't think so. Still, she was raped, and she should be the one felt sorry for.

Mari sighed willingly. "It helped a lot, yeah." While Mari felt defeat, inwardly, Emma felt relief and... accomplishment? Should she consider it accomplishment now if something she says doesn't silence her daughter or piss her off? Right or wrong, the feeling was there. Encouragement pushed the words from Emma's mouth.

"So, you would like to continue sessions?" Unconsciously, Emma began to drive slower, to maybe save time in the car with her cooperatively speaking daughter. They were three minutes from home if she just dropped the speedometer a bit.

Mari dropped emotion as she spoke. "Why not?" If it made her mom happy, she should do it, right? Now, as soon as she figured out how to make herself happy again, she could focus on that.

Despite her internal wishes, Emma decided to quit while she was ahead. The rest of the short ride they had they took in contented silence.

And just like that, they were home. In the city, where they should have stayed the entire summer, anyway. Mari shivered. Nothing could really get to her as much as the "what if" questions. Of all the memories she experienced, all the nightmares, asking herself "what if" was the only thing that could get her to cry.

Emma turned the car off, and almost considered hugging her daughter.

Before her mother could say or do anything, Mari climbed out of the car, knowing Emma would be on her heels within seconds. She heard her mother's door slam as she made her way up the sidewalk. Mari didn't look back as she reached the door, but she knew she had to stop to wait. The front door was locked, as it had been since they arrived home. Only John and Emma had keys. Paranoid? Overprotective? Perhaps. But Mari understood, and stepped aside to give her mother access to the lock.

A key turn, and Emma quietly motioned her daughter ahead of her. In Mari went. This had become her existence: escorted leavings, but otherwise, always inside somewhere. A kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Mari's new world was now three places in a house. Heaven forbid she be left outside for more than twenty seconds. Yet no matter how much it annoyed her, Mari couldn't really see herself living any other way anymore. A month ago, it was taking the car and taking charge.

Mari listened as Emma relocked the front door, taking her shoes off behind her mother. Without saying anything else, once her shoes hit the floor empty of her feet, Mari was walking to the stairs that led to her room. It wasn't an intentional attack on her mother's feelings, but when Emma heard Mari's door shut, her heart almost melted.

Mari's room was considerably larger than that of most teenagers. In fact, their house was the biggest on the block. It could be blamed on her parents' successful jobs. For seventeen years, Mari had been grateful and simply thrilled to have something most kids would do anything for. But now, it seemed like a waste and just unnecessary. This room, this house, hell, even life, was meant to be enjoyed by someone who was going to truly enjoy it. Mari didn't really enjoy much anymore.

She went and sat at her desk.

Did she like being alone? No, not necessarily. Mari felt like the biggest burden to happen to everyone around her. When she was with the company of others, guilt sank low in her gut. She wasn't exactly witty or charming anymore. What was the point? She spent her days in her room to stay out of the way. She slept, did little things here and there, sometimes ate, and tended to do it solo.

For whatever reason, Mari decided to grab paper. A pencil followed. Before she even realized it, Mari was writing. Just scribbles, mostly, reminding herself of Rachel Autumn. A loop here, a dot there. Yet when Mari focused in harder at the paper, she was surprised to see that these scribbles were forming letters, and these letters were forming words. She just let her hand go, mildly shocking herself every time another sentence was written.

_Dear Missing Angel,_

_ My name is Mari Collingwood. You raped me last month, remember?Oh wait, you can't, because you're dead. And I'm alive. Now that doesn't seem fair. Why can't I be dead? You win again, I guess. I addressed you as "Missing Angel" because I feel like you're missing that crucial factor of being human. I think you need an angel inside of you somewhere to be truly human. You are a monster. And I feel sorry for you. I'm kidding. Sorry. We rape victims have a dark sense of humor. What did the dirt say to the virgin? "Hi, I'm all over your body because, guess what, you're being raped._

_ Good Luck,_

_ Mari_

Mari considered calling Doctor Autumn as she read the note again. Just briefly, before she came to her senses.

She crumpled the short letter in her hands, creating a tight ball, got up, and opened her window. She threw it onto the sidewalk, not caring if it was to be found or not. She returned to her desk, but not to sit. Mari suddenly realized how angry she felt. She encouraged the emotion, allowing rage to take over. She quickly grabbed all of the paper she could see on and around her desk, notebooks, lined, plain, and wadded it all up. Out the window it went, followed by all of her pencils and pens.


	3. Without a Word

By the time she had begun to throw her bean-bag chairs and radios from the window as well, Mari was screaming. It all needed to be gone. It couldn't be here anymore. This life couldn't be here anymore.

John Collingwood burst through the door after hearing his baby's cries. He found her in a heap on her floor, sobbing, her window's glass was all broken out now, probably because of her attempts at fitting her desk chair out of it. Her furniture, for that matter, was missing. _So _that's _what Emma heard outside. Our traumatized child throwing the contents of her room out the window._

His first instinct was to bend down and wrap her up in his arms, as he used to do when she would fall off her bike or just miss that bottom step.

But he restrained himself. No touching. That was what Dr. Wempler first instructed. Dr. Wempler was a psychiatrist, but not for Mari, for Emma and John. The hopeless parents found that they themselves needed counseling on the matter. Not only on how to deal with their daughter, but on how to cope with becoming what they were. The young couple would never be the same after what they had done.

"Give her a year." Dr. Wempler had said gently to the man holding his crying wife. "Let her be distant. She needs time. These things happen more than we'd like, and it's a terrible tragedy when it happens to someone we love, but there are ways to manage. She'll come back to you, I promise. It always happens. Especially with the young ones. They still need their mommies and daddies.

"Now," the doctor continued with a heavy sigh, "in regards to your, erm, _personal situation_, all I can say is that you two are honestly the first people I have ever seen dealing with something like it."

Dr. Wempler's many lectures now resounded throughout John's mind. Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch, don't touch, don't touch, donttouch, donttouch, donttouchdonttouchdonttouch.

So, instead, John tried to reach his little girl another way. "Mari!" he yelled down at her. He was surprised to find that he had begun crying as well. "Mari, honey, tell me what's wrong, baby, I can hel-", he choked on the word, forcing it back down. Mari didn't take well to people who tried to help.

Emma was calling for Justin in the hall. He could try to help, right? No, not help, he could do something to console her though. He is the only one closest to knowing the truth to what happened to Mari besides Mari herself.

Mari coughed on her gasps, but the tears didn't stop. "They're looking at me!" She screamed. "They're watching me! They're all fucking watching me and I can't do anything to stop it!" She grabbed her hair and knotted it into her fingers, balling her fists until her knuckles were white. _Stop it stop it stop it. _It didn't stop. It never stopped. He was there. He was in her. He was fucking her.

Justin stood in the doorway, hugging Emma, staring in horror at Mari trembling on the floor, at John Collingwood screaming "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" to the ceiling, the sky, or even maybe to God. (_What God?_) Emma's tears felt sticky against his neck and he wanted to let her go. He didn't want to feel anything right now. That's what scared him the most. He felt everything.

"Baby," John looked down to his daughter again, "baby, who's looking at you? Who's looking at you? Tell me who's- NOBODY IS WATCHING YOU, MARI!" His face was red with blood. Veins protruded from his neck. He looked like a monster. She had done this to him. She had made him a monster.

John abruptly turned from his screaming daughter to his crying wife. That boy was holding her. John reached out and grabbed her arm. Emma screamed, being yanked forward by her husband. He threw her over to Mari. Emma stumbled and fell onto her daughter. Through her tears and sobs, Emma could hear John: "You fix her!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Two Months Later: September~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John Collingwood shouted to the paper boy that the magazine he had just dropped off belonged to the neighbors. Emma Collingwood chattered away on the phone to her friend, Lucy Firreira. ("We should go to a movie tonight!")

Justin Collingwood, as he was now being addressed by, was taking in quite a bit of marijuana in his room with a lock. Mari Collingwood was not home. Mari Collingwood was at Bellard Schlider's apartment. Bellard Schlider was nineteen years old, and since Mari had just had a birthday in August, he felt no wrong about having sex with her.

Mari had changed a lot since July. After what everyone in the house now called "the Incident", when John had gotten frighteningly physical with his family, Mari had started acting more normal.

This was the third time Mari had gone over to his apartment to be fucked by him. It wasn't that it felt good, or that she particularly liked Bellard, it was that her parents no longer wanted her in the house.

He was moving in and out of her, thrusting harder and harder each time, to the point where it was actually hurting Mari. But she bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, keeping quiet. She wasn't going to tell him to stop. For all she knew, her body could just be messed up from having been invaded two- three?- months before. This could all be normal. No reason to stop if it wasn't necessary. She would allow him to finish, he would, then she'd leave. Same as always.

He was holding onto her arms, which were wrapped around his neck tightly, pulling him to her. She could feel his hot breath and condensation from his mouth on her neck, just under her ear. She hated it. She hated him. Her legs were hitched onto his hips, causing him to be sheathed in her as deeply as possible. Oh, and she hated it. She wanted to vomit the entire time. From the moment he kisses her lips, to his final grunt, she detests the activity wholly. Still, she wanted him in her. She wanted to be filled by Bellard. She wanted it all. She just wished she knew why.

And then it happened. Unceremoniously as usual, Bellard met his orgasm with one last, rough pound, and it was over. He laid there for a moment to catch his breath. Mari patiently waited for him to get off of her so she could go home. Bellard rose onto his arms and hovered above her for a moment.

He looked down at Mari. She returned the eye contact. That was something odd about the girl. Bellard had had eight other sex partners already in his entire nineteen years of existence, all of which he was involved in emotionally. These girls would love him and he would love them right back. No relationship ever worked out, though. Mari Collingwood was the first girl Bellard ever _just fucked_. She didn't want anything else. She made that perfectly clear. _"I just want to have sex with you, Bellard, so please don't think anything will get serious between us." _Yet, she always looked at him so fondly afterward, and sometimes, even during. None of Bellard's girlfriends had ever even done that.

Then, he slid out of her gently. Mari looked down between their bodies to watch them disconnect. She gazed at the sight curiously. How was something so far away from your heart or mind supposed to affect your feelings? It fascinated her. Having emotionally-severed sexual relations with Bellard had made her realize that sex was, indeed, nothing at all. She felt stupid for ever having felt like being raped earned her any special treatment.

Bellard stood up, searching around on the floor for his boxers. Mari sat up, holding the blanket up to her front. She felt sore. The feeling was familiar, whether she wanted it to be or not. Bellard found his boxers and gingerly handed Mari her panties. Mari took them without a word.


End file.
